


The Complaint, a sequence of Sarmatian sonnets

by Portia MacBeth (twistedchick)



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Arthurian, Jealousy, Love Triangle, Multi, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:50:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/pseuds/Portia%20MacBeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur talks to everyone except Lancelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Complaint, a sequence of Sarmatian sonnets

He never talks to me. When he decides  
what he will do, or what we'll do, he talks  
to his god, to whom he kneels. When he walks  
away, afterward, oftentimes he rides  
along the wall, watching the horizon  
as if he could reach the end of it if  
he rode far enough. Once he took a skiff  
on the river in summer, for he relies on  
distance to keep him safe. But I, who serve  
him with my life, like and unlike the others,  
have his silence, his gasps, his soft rough sounds  
to comfort me at night. Do I deserve  
no more from him, my lover, more than brother,  
than a warm blanket on the frozen ground?

He knows he has only to speak, to ask  
to have whatever he wishes, for he  
is Arthur, the only one we follow.  
But he won't ask, refusing to impose  
upon our service. No sweet repose   
for him, more than for us; no clean swallow  
of water before we drink; no sorry   
task he does not share in full. I would ask  
no more of any man. Yet he pauses  
to speak to the Woad he saved, that woman  
with her fierce eyes and strong bow. There's true fire  
in their glances. I know what movement causes  
that blue spark in him, and what touch a man  
can give a man to kindle fiercest desire--

But so much she knows as well, a woman's   
touch but a warrior's pride, to raise fire  
from a man's loins and make a new future.  
What she can give, he does not realize  
he wants, yet I see it in his clear eyes  
as he watches her work, sees her suture  
a wound, trusts her to give him cover fire  
as he rescues one of us. She's no man's  
toy, that one. But what am I, who have been  
with him fifteen years? Confidant, comfort,  
blood of my heart, partner in passion, in walks,  
in patrols in snow, rain and heat. I've seen  
him laugh, weep, pray, gasp -- but I'll not resort  
to words when it's to god and her he talks.


End file.
